


On The Edge of a Bounce House

by Listenerofshadows



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: -insert eye emoji here-, Crying tw, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Analogical - Freeform, Shows up three months late with starbucks and a brand new fic, Virgil is anxious boi who cant control his mutation well, You'll Have to Read to Find Out - Freeform, click that read fic link, dont worry I plunge you into this au without context so youre good babes, he's also basically Cyclops in terms of his mutant ability, hi welcome I live for Logan being aware of his emotions, oh yeah this lowkey a xmen au, so guess what's in this fic, what is his mutant ability you say?, you know you want too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 02:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20146285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Listenerofshadows/pseuds/Listenerofshadows
Summary: Virgil thinks he's ruined everything. Logan disagrees.





	On The Edge of a Bounce House

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I didn't plan this fic. I wrote the first sentence not knowing where it was going and the next thing I know, I've written a whole fic.

Virgil sits on the top of a deflated outdoor bounce-house. It’s an ugly mustard yellow color with obnoxious blue and red accents. It is night time. The moon casts upon him like a spotlight in a low grade community theatre production.

He’s fiddling with his hoodie strings, biting his lips. He’s anxious. It’s understandable considering his odd predicament. A twig snaps and with it, his head swiveling towards the direction it came from.

“Logan?” He speaks. It’s clear by his tone he means to whisper, but instead it’s so loud it carries an echo. He flinches, it clearly startling him.

“I’m here.” A much softer voice responds.

Virgil’s head tilts down, eyes squinting to see the bespectacled, sharply dressed man. From his perspective, Logan appears about the size of a barbie doll with its’ head still attached. Everything appears smaller than Virgil because he is bigger. Abnormally so. 

The bounce-house is the equivalent of a deflated air mattress to him; lumpy and devoid of air. 

Virgil wraps his arms around himself, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Logan steps forward now, resting a hand on one of Virgil’s giant purple checkered converse shoes. It is a placating gesture, one Virgil can’t actually feel. 

“W-what do you mean?” Virgil sniffles, emotions afflicting his vocal chords, “I got worked up over something so small and stupid, I ruined the night for everyone!”

“Virgil, you are not the only one who has lost control due to emotions,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses, “Everyone has. Including…me.”

Two eyes that are both the size of a plastic kiddie pool stare down at him. They are big and imposing. Logan has to fight the instinct to flinch. 

“Even you?” Virgil asks, skepticism ringing through, “But you’re…Logan.”

“Yes that’s my name, although I don’t understand what that has to do with this conversation.”

Virgil huffs, crossing his arms in the process, “I mean! You’re always so levelheaded and logical. You always know what to do.”

“Not always.”

Logan sits down on the ground, his back pressed against Virgil’s shoe. He frowns, as grim as the grim reaper working overtime. He takes off his glasses, cradling them in his hands. Virgil thinks he should maybe apologize for upsetting the dude. Except Virgil has the communication skills of a Furby with a dying battery. In other words he is atrocious at comforting people.

“Logan, I—this is different,” Virgil says, “I’m too dangerous, I should just leave—”

“The ability to shoot lasers out of one’s eyes usually proves to be quite lethal,” Logan cuts in, “does that also make me too dangerous to be around?”

The dirt ground suddenly looks more appealing to look at than Logan. Virgil stares at it as if it holds the secret of how to make the world’s greatest cranberry tart. Virgil doesn’t even like cranberry tarts.

Logan sighs, placing his glasses back on.

“I didn’t come here to discuss myself,” He says, “Virgil, no one was injured from the incident. Nor do the others believe you ruined things. In fact they’re more concerned about your well-being than their own.”

“Yeah?” Virgil raises an eyebrow, “if they care so much, then where are they?”

“Based on prior displays of stress, Patton is probably baking an atrocious amount of sweets and Roman is fervently pacing somewhere nearby,” Logan shakes his head, “If you wish to blame someone for their absences, blame me. I was the one who suggested it’d be wiser if only one of us checked up on you, in order to keep from crowding and overwhelming you.”

Logan stands up, his amber eyes glistening brightly, “It’s okay to be scared, Virgil. I know you’re feeling a multitude of emotions right now, but just know I am here if you ever want to talk.”

Virgil does not know how to compute. No one has ever expressed this level of concern for him like this before. He should express something sort of gratitude. Should he say thank you? He should say thank you.

A laugh comes out instead. Dry and brittle like old play-dough. Not quite the right reaction.

“I—I wasn’t being humorous,” Logan says, genuine confusion leaking through his words, “I truly do mean those words Virgil. The others and I value your company greatly.”

“I don’t get it,” Virgil bursts out, “Why did you come back? Why don’t you hate me? Wh—”

He hiccups. Tears gather in Virgil’s eyes and Logan has a front-row seat in the splash zone. He doesn’t leave. Instead in typical Logan fashion, he came prepared with an umbrella.

“Because as Patton puts it, you are a part of the fam-I-L-Y,” Logan says softly, “I didn’t fully understand it either. But a family doesn’t abandon one of their own. A family loves and supports them through their struggles.”

Virgil cries harder at these words. Logan grip his umbrella tighter, closer to him. Perhaps his words had an unintentional averse effect. He opens his mouth to apologize when a popping noise occurs. Loud and unexpected like a firework in the middle of April.

There are no more gigantic tears raining down on Logan. Arms proportional to his own seize hold of him, sending him crashing to the ground. Virgil clings to him, no longer as tall as a two-story building. Oh. Logan slowly places his arms around the other’s bony frame. Light and gentle in ways a boa constrictor is not.

“Don’t let go.” Virgil begs, shuddering. He needs reassurance that Logan means it, that he won’t abandon him like everyone else has in his life.

“Never.” Logan responds.

Of course that is a hyperbole. Eventually he will need to release himself from the embrace. But for now, he holds onto Virgil, keeping him from falling apart completely.


End file.
